


Oneironautics

by hectocotyle



Series: liquidmantis shenanigans [1]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Asexual Character, Blow Jobs, Consentacles, Disembowelment, Dismemberment, Dream Sex, Fear Play, Giant/Tiny, Gore, Hand Jobs, Nonbinary Character, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other, Romantic Vore, Tentacle Monsters, Trust Kink, Vore, body image issues, consensual vore, kind of. an attempt is made, look. just hear me out ok, mild jealousy, monster kink, of the psychokinetic variety
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-08
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-19 05:38:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5955667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hectocotyle/pseuds/hectocotyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anything can happen in dreamland, and nobody actually gets hurt. Mantis takes advantage of that fact to help his poor pent-up boss vent some steam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. mantis_rules.exe

**Author's Note:**

> i'm not even gonna pretend the use of angle brackets for thought-speech isn't lifted straight from animorphs. it's just easier on my eyes than having italics all over the place

_Thunk. Thunk. Thunk. Thunk._

<Fun day, I take it, Boss?> says Mantis as he lets himself in. They rarely bother speaking aloud when it's just the two of them.

 

Liquid shoots him a withering look over his shoulder and resumes bonking his forehead on his desktop like a sluggish metronome.

 

<Giving yourself a headache won't ease your stress, you know. Come to bed.>

 

Liquid sighs, props himself up on his elbows. <No. I need to get through this stupid goddamn paperwork first.>

 

<It'll still be there in the morning. You can't keep running yourself into the ground like this if we're going to take Shadow Moses. Come. To. Bed.>

 

Liquid lifts a heavy stack of papers from the corner of his desk, slams it down in front of him, and hunches over it stubbornly. He stares at the pen in his hand for a few confused seconds until he remembers through the fog of exhaustion that, as a matter of fact, you need to _press the pen to the page_ to make writing appear. “Uh.”

 

<That does it,> Mantis growls, and his boss's chair leaves the ground.

 

“Hey!” Liquid barks. The chair hovers over to his bed and upends, dumping him onto it face-first.

 

<I knew you'd see it my way, Boss,> says Mantis with more than a hint of smugness.

 

The desk lamp clicks itself off, and Liquid feels the mattress dip slightly as his friend joins him. He rolls onto his back, grumbling in defeat. His hands are halfway to his left boot when an invisible force yanks them both off his feet and tosses them aside. Mantis goes for his trenchcoat next, though he at least has the decency to hang it up in the closet.

 

<What's got into you tonight? Usually when someone drags their boyfriend to bed and starts ripping all his clothes off, it's not _sleeping_ they have in mind. >

 

<Not usually, no.> Mantis sounds entirely too self-satisfied for his own good. Oh, he's up to something, all right. Liquid probes his mind for details and is met with the mental equivalent of a solid concrete wall. Asshole.

 

<Heh. Aren't I, though? Well then, you'd best start counting sheep.>

 

Too comatose to argue, Liquid settles for an annoyed grunt before wrapping a strong arm around Mantis, pulling his scrawny boyfriend snug against his warm, broad chest. He's always found it kind of nice how his psychic partner can tuck them in without lifting a finger.

 

Mantis gently pushes his boss's hand away when he fumbles at the straps of his mask. <Leave it on. I need to be able to focus.>

 

<In your _sleep_? >

 

But he conks out before Mantis can reply.

 

\----------

 

When he opens his eyes again, he's fully clothed (as close as he ever comes to fully clothed, anyway) and sitting at his desk like he'd never moved. He must have slept, though, because he no longer feels quite so much like an inebriated zombie who's been punched in the face a few times by King Kong.

 

“The hell?” he says, looking around, squinting against the lamplight. “Mantis, if this is your idea of a prank, you're going to have to try a little—a little—”

 

He squints harder. Yep, that's definitely a tiny Mantis sitting on his shoulder. He gives his boss a friendly wave.

 

“Fuck!” Liquid jumps so hard he nearly capsizes the chair. “What—since when—”

 

<How interesting.> The finger-high Mantis hovers close to his face, regards him thoughtfully. <I had a lot more trouble achieving this level of realism with the other subjects, let me tell you! My special psychic bond with you must be streamlining the process.>

 

“I would—” Oh, right, thought-speech. Liquid snaps his mouth shut. <I would appreciate an explanation—a thorough one—preferably _before_ I have a heart attack. Starting with _this_. > He lifts an index finger and carefully, very carefully, pokes Mini-Mantis in the stomach.

 

He casually folds his arms over the top of Liquid's fingernail. <You haven't figured it out? Honestly, Boss, put that big IQ of yours to work. Have you ever seen me change size before?>

 

<No....>

 

<Of course not. Because I can't do it... outside the world of imagination, that is.>

 

Liquid blinks. Thinks how eager Mantis was to get him asleep. <Ah.>

 

<Bingo, Boss. You're in dreamland. Or rather, the new-and-improved version I've concocted for you. Impressive, isn't it?>

 

Liquid doesn't need to say anything; he knows Mantis can read his (only somewhat grudging) admiration. The yellow-white glow of the lamp, the sturdiness of the chair beneath him, the steady _tmp-tmp-tmp_ of some night guard's footsteps as he passes by outside their door—none of it's tainted by the hazy quality of a natural dream. As far as his animal brain is concerned, he's wide awake, staring in consternation at a 100% authentic teeny version of his best friend. <This is fascinating and all, but... why?>

 

<Why?> Mantis vanishes and reappears lounging across the top of the desk, back to his normal size. He rests his chin in his hand. <Well, for one thing, I'm aware you don't find many partners who share your... y'know, _interests_. >

 

Liquid grimaces. <That's putting it mildly.>

 

Despite finding sex repulsive, Mantis doesn't judge him (much) for seeking it from other people. The problem is that his best fantasies, the sort he wakes up from panting and trembling and slick with more than just sweat, are so objectively fucked-up that he's never even tried bringing them up with any of his partners. He can't imagine it'd do much for his ego to end a one-night stand with the other party running away screaming, so he ends up having a lot of too-vanilla sex that scratches the physical itch but still leaves him abysmally unsatisfied. And what with FOXHOUND's impending rebellion against the U.S. Government presence on Shadow Moses, he feels the drain on his psychological functioning more sharply than ever.

 

<I got the dream manipulation idea from the VR we use to train the Genome Soldiers,> says Mantis. <The technology isn't sophisticated enough for what I had in mind, though, so I thought: why not put my powers to good use? The human brain is essentially an organic computer, is it not? I tested out my ideas on various sleeping volunteers—heh, well, I don't suppose they can be called volunteers if there wasn't any actual consent involved—and developed a mental computer program of sorts. It plays out your desires in precise detail. It constantly updates the scenario based on your changing needs. And best of all, no matter what happens to you, you'll wake up unharmed. It is the perfect fantasy simulator, and I have created it for you!>

 

Liquid's so touched he's at a brief loss for words. How many soldiers' no-doubt nauseating wet dreams did Mantis subject himself to, just to help him? <You... you really shouldn't have, I could've...>

 

Mantis waves him off good-naturedly. <I know, I know, I'm the best. Now give me something to work with, will you?>

 

It's embarrassing, mortifying, how instantly That One Kink pops into his head. He can almost hear his friend's eyebrows shoot up behind the mask. <Uh. Sorry. Ignore that.>

 

<Oh-ho. _That_ one? >

 

He averts his eyes, face hot. He tries to avoid involving Mantis in his awful fantasies out of courtesy, but too often his dick of a subconscious refuses to cooperate. <Look, if it disgusts you—>

 

<Quite the contrary. I've always found that one rather flattering.>

 

He's telling the truth; Liquid can feel how openly pleased he is via their psychic bond. It sets off a none-too-subtle shimmer of excitement in his own chest and belly. He sits up straight. <W-well then. How does this work?>

 

His mouth falls open as he watches the muzzle of Mantis's mask suddenly split apart into several segments, wet and saw-edged, like the mandibles of some monstrous insect. 

 

_“Something. Like. Thisss,”_ he hisses through his gruesome new jaws, and launches himself at Liquid.

 

\----------

 

So. Turns out there's a difference between imagining your boyfriend as a huge bug-monster and watching him transform into one in terrifyingly believable detail. Turns out there's a world of difference. A _galaxy_ of difference. His whole body goes rigid as an iron pipe when the beast tackles him to the floor and pins his arms down with serrated, multi-jointed forelimbs. He stares up at it, eyes wild, a scream caught in his throat.

 

At once the beast loosens its hold, ready to back off at any moment. <Boss,> it says. Soft, soothing.

 

A few seconds pass in silence as he comes back to himself, breathing hard, heart rate slowing. This is Mantis. He trusts Mantis.

 

He musters the nerve to reach out, place his hand on a twitching mouthpart. The monster pushes its face into his palm, clicking with delight.

 

<Huh. Now that the initial pants-pissing terror has worn off, this is a pretty good look for you.>

 

<Agreed. Suits me a lot better than that bony, weak little _human_ body. >

 

It gathers him up in gentle forelimbs and carries him to bed, elegant wings whirring.

 

Was his coat buttoned up earlier? He could've sworn... Ah. Mantis must remember the way this scene usually starts out in his head. No time to be ashamed; the second Liquid's on his back, it sinks its jaws into the coat, rips a huge gash with a violent twist of its neck. A mixed thrill of fear and arousal spikes in his gut.

 

“F-fuck,” he croaks, shuddering at the sight of this spiny abomination dripping slimy black saliva on his exposed abdomen, but this time the fear is something he _wants_ , and he trusts his friend to give him no more and no less than he can handle.

 

Meeting his eyes, Mantis slowly dips its head until the tips of its mandibles brush the hard muscle of his lower belly. Pauses there as if to give Liquid another chance to change his mind.

 

He clutches its head with both hands and shoves its face downward.

 

The pleased surprise that ripples across their mental link is the single most massive fucking turn-on Liquid has ever experienced. “Fucking hell, Mantis,” he gasps, pushing them together insistently.

 

_“Bossss,”_ Mantis rasps against his stomach, and finally plunges its jaws into him.

 

Liquid's cry of joy comes out strangled. The pain is intense as Mantis saws through the surface layers of skin and fat and muscle, but not to an unbearable extent—just enough to feed the edge of fear, the intoxicating awareness that he's utterly at Mantis's mercy. He realizes with alarm that he's moments from an earth-shattering climax although they've just started. In that same instant, something dials back his arousal to a more manageable level. It's as Mantis said; the dream is picking up on his desires, actively editing itself to maximize his enjoyment.

 

“God, you're a... fucking genius...” He chokes on a sob when Mantis reaches his intestines and starts wrenching them out with gusto, spattering gore all over the two of them. Tears of the loveliest agony are gushing from his eyes.

 

<Mhmm. And you're delicious,> it says as it gorges itself on him. <Which means you _want_ to taste good for me. How considerate of you. >

 

<I'd—> He yelps at a particularly vicious jerk. <Fuck, I'd let you do this in the real world—>

 

Mantis knows, of course. Liquid senses a rush of happiness at his confession all the same. <Believe me, if I could do it without causing you permanent harm, I'd eat nothing else.>

 

And just like that, with his oldest friend's face buried in his mangled guts, he's ready to cum again. This time he welcomes it.

 

\----------

 

It's a strange though not at all unpleasant feeling, lying there with his abdominal cavity hollowed out. Equally satisfied, Mantis rests atop him, a solid and reassuring weight.

 

Mantis lets him pull it into a kiss. A bit awkward, given the freaky mandible situation, but Liquid's content to touch his lips to each individual gore-flecked mouthpart, thanking his friend without words.

 

Mantis makes an odd, low-pitched rattling sound in its throat that reminds him of a purr.

 

\----------

 

Liquid wakes up the next morning in a downright chipper mood, despite the pressing need for a change of undies.

 

<Rise and shine,> he says brightly, shaking a still-snoozing Mantis. <Meeting's in an hour. Up you get.>

 

<Uh.>

 

<C'mooon. You can eat me again tonight if you promise not to give me any trouble.>

 

Mantis blinks up at him with sleepy curiosity. Too late, it occurs to Liquid that last night might've been nothing more than a weirdly realistic dream the actual Mantis had no hand in. His throat constricts with horror.

 

But Mantis just stretches lazily and says, <Sure. What are friends for if not messily devouring one another's entrails?>

 

Liquid relaxes and laughs aloud. <Couldn't have said it better myself.>


	2. funtacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Otacon, Liquid accidentally discovers the existence of tentacle porn.

The door seals itself behind Liquid with a quiet hiss as he strolls into the laboratory. “Dr. Emmerich?”

 

Emmerich takes a swig from a big coffee mug, looks up from one of his computers. “One moment please, I just need to—” When he sees who’s dropped in on him for a visit, he quickly rearranges his tired features into a strained smile. “Ah, s-sir! What an… unexpected pleasure!”

 

“No doubt,” says Liquid. “Thought I’d see how things are coming along with your big metal brain-baby.” He comes to a stop by Emmerich’s side, folds his arms, peers at the dozens of lines of code crowding the screen.

 

“Oh! Well, right now I’m working out a couple of little kinks in his walk cycle, nothing major. N-not to say it’s unimportant. It’s not like I’m wasting time in here.” He winces. “Can I, uh, get you anything, sir? Coffee?”

 

“Coffee sounds brilliant,” Liquid says, offering him a small smile. He loathes coffee, but it’s tough to miss the way Emmerich shrinks in on himself whenever he so much as glances in the smaller man’s direction. As if he expects to be yelled at, or worse. No point causing REX’s chief engineer needless stress.

 

Emmerich visibly relaxes. “Great! I just made a big pot, it should still be nice and steamy.” He hops out of his seat. “Be right back!”

 

When he returns, they make pleasant small talk before discussing Metal Gear. Liquid sips his coffee politely, nods along and asks the occasional clarifying question as Emmerich explains the speed limitations of a giant bipedal machine. The longer he goes on talking, the more animated and cheerful he grows, until there’s scarcely a trace left of the skittish, weary man who greeted Liquid when he first walked in. It’s a shame, really, that FOXHOUND will be holding this guy hostage in a few days. He’s enjoyable enough to talk to, if a bit high-strung (and in urgent need of a shower).

 

“Keep up the good work, Doc. We’re all counting on you.” He gives the engineer a friendly clap on the shoulder and turns to leave.

 

“Wait!”

 

“Hmm?”

 

Emmerich appears startled by his own outburst. “Ah, it’s just… it’s been nice talking to you. I know we don’t often get the chance since we’re both so busy, but… yeah.” His cheeks turn pinkish.

 

“You’re not half bad company yourself. Tell you what, I’ll stop by again if I can squeeze out another opportunity between these _interminable_ logistics conferences.” He makes a face.

 

Emmerich brightens immediately. “Sounds great! Uh, good!”

 

Why couldn’t boosting staff morale always be this easy? “See you then,” Liquid says with a final wave of his hand, and heads out.

 

Mantis is waiting for him a few hallways over. His back is pressed to the cold metal wall and there’s a sullen tilt to his shoulders.

 

Liquid settles in beside him. <So? Find anything of interest in Emmerich’s head?>

 

<Nothing important,> Mantis mutters.

 

Liquid huffs. <I’ll be the judge of that.>

 

<Frankly, I’m astonished you haven’t figured it out on your own. The guy was being about as subtle as a steel-toed boot to the groin. No mind-reading powers necessary.>

 

<For the love of God, Mantis, spit it out!>

 

Mantis side-eyes him. <Boss. Dr. Emmerich likes you. _Likes_ you. >

 

Liquid gapes up at him, then squawks with laughter. <All right, I’ll admit you had me there for a second. I was decent to him for all of twenty minutes. It takes a _bit_ more than that, my friend. >

 

Mantis isn’t laughing. <The boy has issues like you wouldn’t believe. And I say this as someone with more issues than _Reader’s Digest_ and _National Geographic_ combined. >

 

<Well, I’m sure his opinion of me will be considerably less favorable a few days from now,> Liquid says, still chuckling. <In any case, you know there’s no room for anyone but you in this shriveled little husk I try and mostly fail to pass off as a heart.> His dog tags jingle faintly as he moves his hand up to tap the left side of his bare chest.

 

<I know, I know,> says Mantis with a great _whoosh_ of a sigh.  <Doesn’t stop it from being annoying as hell.>

 

<Mm. Let me take your mind off it, then, shall I?> He hooks an arm around Mantis’s gaunt waist, pulls him in close so his abdomen is level with Liquid’s face.

 

Mantis puffs out a soft gasp as Liquid untucks his tight-fitting shirt and starts kissing every inch of uncovered skin. <Wha—Boss, you do realize there are security cameras in—>

 

<Oh no. _Anything_ but _security cameras_. My one weakness, > Liquid deadpans. <I am Liquid Snake, leader of FOXHOUND and the Sons of Big Boss, and I will grope my incredible fucking boyfriend right in the middle of the fucking hallway if I _fucking_ well please! Look, watch this. > For good measure, he glances around, flipping off each camera in turn. <Right, was that all of them? Ah, no, over in that last corner—theeere we go. Happy?>

 

<Boss…> Mantis loops his fingers through long, soft blond hair, shivers pleasantly at the tender brush of lips over his navel, the prominent lower arc of his ribcage. <Ah… I can read your mind and I still don’t get what about this appeals to you. Might as well be feeling up a skeleton.>

 

Liquid grins against a sharp hipbone. <Maybe I’m into skeletons.>

 

Mantis sniffs. <Yes, I can see how you’d be turned on by the way my flesh sags off the bone like even it can’t stand being a part of me.>

 

<Wouldn’t change a thing about it,> Liquid says blithely. He tugs Mantis down to his level, holds him close with a hand splayed on the small of his back, unhurriedly kisses his way up one side of his slender neck.

 

Mantis tips back his head to give him space, and fuck, Liquid loves the excited stuttering of the thready pulse in his throat, the way his mask amplifies his subdued huffs of pleasure. <That you’re not exaggerating even a little bit… never ceases to amaze me, Boss.>

 

He badly wants to nip Mantis’s pale skin, can feel that Mantis wants it too, but they’re supposed to meet up with the other Sons soon and there’s no time to hunt for a spare scarf to cover up the marks with. Since that creepy old bastard Ocelot is the absolute last person either of them wants silently contemplating their sex life (if it can be called that), they reluctantly pull apart and begin to make their way through the chilly corridors.

 

\----------

 

Dr. Emmerich’s office is vacant when Liquid shows up the following day. Liquid figures he’s off taking a piss or something, and waits.

 

“What, did he fall in?” he grumbles when it becomes clear that he might be waiting a good while. To occupy himself, he takes another look at Emmerich’s fancy computers. Couldn’t hurt to try and puzzle out some of this code, could it?

 

A colorful thumbnail on one of the screens catches his eye. Seems Emmerich left an image folder open. He clicks on it, expecting something REX-related, maybe an annotated screenshot of a VR simulation.

 

It’s not REX-related. It’s not REX-related at _all_.

 

At first Liquid can only gawk at the picture in mute incredulity. The sound of approaching footsteps is what finally jerks his eyes away. Reflexively, he whirls around and punches Emmerich square in the face, knocking him out cold. The poor guy’s glasses go flying and he thuds to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

 

Liquid scrambles to close the image and flees the scene of the crime, praying to whatever god happens to be feeling generous that Emmerich didn’t catch him ogling whatever the unholy fuck _that_ was supposed to be.

 

\----------

 

<Wow, Boss. Right in the face, huh?>

 

<I panicked, okay!>

 

<Oh, I’m not complaining, don’t get me wrong. It’s pretty damn funny. I keep feeling compelled to rewatch the whole event in your head.>

 

Liquid scowls, attempting to focus on Ocelot’s incessant rambling. Wolf flashes him an odd look across the table. He shakes his head, and she turns back to Ocelot, still frowning slightly.

 

<Look, feel free to harass me about it all you want after the meeting, but this is kind of important. Even if that old fart does bore me to tears.>

 

<You’re inviting me to harass you? Sure you won’t wind up regretting that? Especially given the _intriguing_ thoughts you’ve been having about that picture. Told you Emmerich had issues— >

 

Liquid kicks Mantis’s leg under the table, not hard enough to bruise but plenty hard enough to get the message across. Mantis gives as good as he gets, and soon they’re both suppressing snickers as they try to one-up each other.

 

“Something you’d care to share with the rest of the class, gentlemen?”

 

Liquid bristles at his subordinate’s tone, but merely sits up straight and returns his attention to Ocelot as if nothing happened. He feels Mantis do the same beside him.

 

Wolf’s expression has softened from “concerned” to “mildly bewildered.”

 

\----------

 

That night, Liquid awakens in Mantis’s fabricated dream world to find himself in the same stretch of hallway where he’d made crude hand gestures at the security cameras.

 

He’s also, to his complete lack of surprise, being suspended in midair by about a dozen immense, sinuous, oily black tentacles.

 

< _Mantis._ >

 

The room-sized horror bearing an uncanny resemblance to the one from Emmerich’s bizarre cartoon porn tightens its sticky grip on each of Liquid’s outspread limbs. <C’mon, don’t tell me you wouldn’t like to spice things up once in a while.>

 

<Right, because having you brutally disembowel me and chew on my kidneys night after night wasn’t _spicy_ enough. >

 

<You can say no.>

 

Liquid rolls his eyes. <Oh, you know bloody well how much I want it. Just get on with it, will you?>

 

Mantis gleefully obliges, hauling him in toward its glistening dark mass that blocks the latter half of the hallway from floor to ceiling. It takes its time, letting Liquid appreciate the ghastly maw that splits the surface of its pulsating, amorphous body like a wound. _That_ part wasn’t in Emmerich’s porn, but it’s not an unwelcome divergence from the source material.

 

<Hmmm. How shall I eat you,> Mantis muses, nonchalant.

 

Liquid’s breathing grows harsh, shaky, as Mantis effortlessly flips him this way and that, pokes and prods him from every angle. Inspecting him like a piece of meat. Savoring the apprehensive tension in his muscles.

 

It can’t be an accident that the tentacles keep making a point to glide nice and slow over his clothed hard-on.

 

He gasps when they suddenly clutch at his coat in tandem, yank it to shreds as if the material’s no tougher than wet tissue paper. He trembles at the chill of mucus on his skin as Mantis strokes his thick biceps fondly. <Gutting you is always such fun, of course, but in this new body… well. I’ve wondered what it might be like to start with these nice strong arms of yours. Plenty of meat on them.>

 

Christ, the thing’s _teeth_. They start out rather generic and uniform, but as he watches, the dream refines them into a nightmarish assortment of mismatched shapes and sizes: thick jagged triangles, clusters of slim needles, curved blunt fangs. All the better to suit Liquid’s perverse need, baffling even to himself, to have the ever-loving piss scared out of him.

 

<Temptation revelation,> Mantis murmurs.

 

It passes Liquid’s left arm into its mouth. A set of triangular teeth closes lightly on it, just below the shoulder.

 

“Fuck,” he wheezes.

 

Before he can process the neat cleaving bite, his arm is no longer attached to his body, and it’s only his dream-granted self-control that saves him from creaming himself right then and there. The halo of scorching pain at the end of the stump feels fucking fantastic. The amount of blood that jets from it is implausible, but it’s _his_ fantasy, goddammit, and he’ll bleed as theatrically as he wants. A shockingly white tongue uncoils from the depths of Mantis’s mouth, catches the bright red spurts along its undulating length.

 

<So good,> Mantis purrs. <Here, taste yourself.>

 

The tongue’s tapered tip forces its way into his mouth, his throat. The mingled flavors of slime and rust are revolting and, God help him, he fucking loves it.

 

Those tentacles are back on his crotch. There’s no mistaking it; they’re determined to rub one out.

 

<Thought you didn’t like dicks,> he says, doing his best to sound casual even as Mantis gropes him and he chokes and gags around its colossal tongue in his throat.

 

<It’s not so bad if I don’t have to touch it directly. Or look at it. Besides, it hasn’t escaped my notice that you’re courteous enough to ensure you don’t end up stark naked in any of these scenarios. Consider it returning the favor.>

 

It withdraws its tongue with a wet sucking noise, and he gasps for air, his face a sloppy mess of their combined fluids. <Shit. Mantis, please, I want—>

 

Mantis doesn’t need him to finish that sentence. Its tongue winds around his chest, pulls the top half of his body into its humid mouth. Somehow the sudden total darkness intensifies the sensation of teeth pressing into his abdomen, just shallow enough to avoid drawing blood.

 

<Cum for me, Boss.>

 

Hearing those words from _Mantis_ of all people undoes him. He groans deeply, pushes his hips into the accommodating tentacles, and lets himself go.

 

Then Mantis’s teeth meet and his upper half lets his lower half go.

 

\----------

 

It would seem he owes Dr. Hal Emmerich a “thank you” as much as an apology.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i forgot to mention this in the chapter 1 notes but i headcanon liquid as being into a lot of weird violent shit as a way of coping with trauma and how he spent a lot of his childhood feeling helpless and vulnerable. yeah. that's my story and i'm stickin' to it


	3. interlewd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mantis attempts to let Liquid reciprocate. Self-loathing ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy "liquid snake and psycho mantis are fucking dead" day

 

Sometimes Mantis hates being psychic.

 

Not the telekinesis part—he never fails to get a kick out of using his thoughts alone to fling around his screaming victims like plush dolls, smash in their fragile skulls with the nearest available blunt object. No, it’s the whole involuntary mind-reading thing that’s caused him no end of grief over the years. The mask offers a decent degree of relief, but there’s still that one person he can’t shut out entirely.

 

Which is why he’s currently on his back on That One Person’s bed, struggling not to bolt as That One Person lowers his head between Mantis’s spread legs.

 

<You sure about this?> says his boss, looking up as he unzips Mantis’s fly. <You’re doing a pretty fair impression of a wooden plank right now.>

 

<Oh, you noticed? I’ve been practicing,> says Mantis, though the blatant edge of hysteria to his thought-speech kind of defeats the purpose of the joke. For crying out loud, how hard can it possibly be to lie back and let his boyfriend blow him?

 

It’s not as if Liquid pressured him into this, either. In fact, Mantis is the one who brought it up in the first place. Despite Mantis’s repeated reassurances, Liquid can’t help feeling guilty for not getting him off during their dream world trysts, a fact he’s painfully aware of as only a psychic can be. This seems the least he can do for his boss’s peace of mind.

 

Liquid is softly stroking his inner thighs in a hopeless effort to put him at ease. <Just say the word and I’ll stop.>

 

<I will,> Mantis lies.

 

When his boss takes him in hand and gives a few light, slow tugs (he’s completely limp, of course he is, talk about fucking pathetic), he bites his lip until he tastes blood. Then Liquid wets his own lips, eyes half-lidded with anticipation, and Mantis has to throw an arm across his face, stab the rest of his fingers deep into the mattress, because the simple act of staying still is sapping every last stinking molecule of his willpower.

 

Another comforting caress to his thigh. Then a hot puff of breath, the softness of lips and ohfuckohfuck _ohhhhfuck_ —

 

“Mm.” Liquid’s contentment washes over him as if he’d slid into a warm bath, helps smooth out the worst of the tension in his atrophied muscles.

 

Huh.

 

Maybe this won’t be so terrible after all. If he just makes himself focus on his boss’s sincere desire to please him, rather than the act itself…

 

Unprepared for the spark that ignites in his lower belly at the thought, he lets slip a moan, unlovely and too loud, made even worse by the amplifying effects of the mask.

 

<Good?> says Liquid, radiating smugness.

 

<I… yeah.>

 

<Wow, no snarky comeback? I really _must_ be doing something right. >

 

<Don’t push it,> Mantis mumbles, and promptly forgets his annoyance when Liquid curls his tongue just so. He doubts the sounds he’s making would be considered attractive by anyone’s standards, but he doggedly resists the urge to muffle them. His boss likes hearing what a good job he’s doing.

 

Just when it seems reasonable to hope that this will be as positive an experience for him as for Liquid, he catches an accidental glimpse of how he looks from his boss’s perspective. There’s no judgment in Liquid’s thoughts, only warmth, but the mental image of his own emaciated body twitching in pleasure is so abrupt and so utterly revolting that he actually _teleports_ halfway across the room to escape it. He crashes headlong into Liquid’s desk, knocking open drawers and scattering papers in a chaotic flurry.

 

Liquid’s at his side in a flash, gathering him up in his arms, demanding if he’s all right ( _oh fuck did i do something wrong hurt him scare him what the FUCK did i do_ come his boss’s thoughts in a jumbled stream-of-conscious flood) and no he’s fucking not all right and it has fuck all to do with the throbbing ache in the back of his skull or the cacophonous ringing in his ears—

 

He teleports again, reflexively, unable to accept his boss’s gentle handling of his disgusting body, physically _sickened_ by the notion. Floating haphazardly backward until he thumps against the wall adjacent to the bed, he fumbles himself back into his pants, fingers slipping in his haste to fasten up.

 

<Mantis?>

 

Liquid is watching him, cautious, but at least he senses his need for space, doesn’t approach him again.

 

<I…> Mantis tries to wrangle his thoughts into some semblance of order, with little success. Perfect. Now Liquid thinks he hurt him somehow, and Mantis can’t even bring himself to articulate the real reason the whole thing went down in flames. Boy, he really fucked this up in the most spectacular way imaginable, didn’t he? <…Sorry.>

 

<For what?>

 

Liquid’s almost tangible outpouring of concern is more than he can deal with right now. Stupid, _stupid_ of him to think forcing himself into something he wasn’t ready for could end well, make his boss feel anything but more guilty than ever.

 

<Sorry,> he repeats lamely, and teleports right out of the room.

 

\----------

 

He doesn’t leave Liquid alone with his worries for long. How could he?

 

When he lets himself back in the room, the first thing he says is <I swear it’s nothing you did.>

 

Liquid pats the spot on the bed next to him. Mantis feels his boss’s flicker of relief when he accepts the invitation.

 

<Do you want to talk about it?> Liquid asks. Mantis flinches, stares at the floor. <I won’t try and make you if you don’t want to. But if you think it’d help… well, I’m listening.>

 

Mantis is silent for a while. Then: <It’s just… you know how I get sometimes. About my body.> He sighs.

 

His boss nods, understanding. <You’re not responsible for managing my emotions, you know. So I feel bad about the dream thing—that’s my business. I’ll just have to learn to suck it up like a big boy. …Er, pretend I didn’t phrase that horribly awkwardly in light of recent events.> He gives Mantis an amicable nudge with his elbow. <What do you say we take a break tonight, get some normal sleep?>

 

Mantis looks at him gratefully. <All right.>

 

<Want some candy from my _secret stash_? > Liquid asks with an exaggerated eyebrow waggle. <I’m pretty sure there’s still half a thing of M&Ms in the closet. It’s one of those big family-size bags, too.>

 

<Not for me, thanks. I’m on an all-liquid diet.>

 

<Since when are—oh. _OHHHHHH_. > Liquid grabs a pillow and gives him a good whack.

 

Mantis fends him off, cackling. <Okay, I deserved that.>

 


	4. mantis's rock ballad

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marathon nookie.

<How many times are you going to reread that, anyway?>

 

With a lazy flick of his thoughts, Mantis turns the page of the well-used old paperback hovering a few inches above his face. <Until the ‘murderous rampage of revenge at the prom’ scene stops being so damn satisfying. Serves those filthy little worms right for bullying a psychic. And that ending, what with her destroying the town, killing a shitload of people in the process… niiice.> He glances up from the comfy pillow he’s made of Liquid’s lap. <So. You plan on sharing those?>

 

His boss is shoveling M&Ms into his mouth like they’re going out of style. He looks royally pissed off, but Mantis knows he’s just anxious. Understandable, given that tomorrow’s the big day—the day they take Shadow Moses. Most anyone else would be drinking themselves into oblivion, but Liquid prefers to keep a clear head, so nigh-lethal sugar overdose it is.

 

<Whatever happened to being on an ‘all-liquid diet’?> says his boss. <That pun shaved several decades off my lifespan, by the way. I hope you’re proud of yourself.>

 

Mantis snorts out a laugh and drawls, <Feed me, Liquid! Feed me all night long!>

 

<Like I don’t already do that,> Liquid says as he uses his spare hand to unfasten Mantis’s mask, set it aside on the bed. Luckily most of the base is already asleep, and the weary thoughts of the soldiers patrolling the halls outside their quarters are mere background noise.

 

Liquid drops a single M&M onto Mantis’s waiting tongue. <Right, there’s your share.>

 

<You dick!>

 

Mantis mind-chucks the book at Liquid’s head. Anticipating the move, Liquid darts out a hand and catches it before it hits. <Mmm, I suppose I can be persuaded to part with some of my hard-earned empty calories,> he says, and his playful grin makes Mantis’s already-feeble heart stutter.

 

<Oh? And how do I go about doing that, O Generous One?>

 

His boss drops the book and the bag of candy on the nightstand. Bends down, slowly, until his smirk is very close. <Use your imagination.>

 

<Heh…> Man, is this guy bad for his heart. For once he has to scramble for a smartass reply. <If I dig the answer out of your head, aren’t I technically using _your_ imagination? >

 

<Just kiss me already, idiot,> says Liquid with mock exasperation.

 

Mantis doesn’t need to be told twice. He threads his fingers into his boss’s hair and tugs him down.

 

Maybe it’s the apprehension about tomorrow he’s picking up from Liquid that makes the softest brush of fingers or lips or tongue feel so much more _intense_ than usual. Whatever it is, it doesn’t take long spurring him to sit up and scuttle onto Liquid’s lap, straddle him, yank off that heavy coat so he can press himself up to that immense, powerful body.

 

He feels Liquid’s sharp intake of breath against his own open, insistent mouth. <Randy tonight, aren’t we?>

 

<You’re one to talk, giving me this big old boner to sit on when all we’ve been doing is a little face-squishing.> He gives a languid roll of his hips, and Liquid’s out-loud curse proves his point quite nicely.

 

Emboldened, he telekinetically opens his boss’s fly.

 

<Ooh, I think I like where this is headed,> says Liquid.

 

<I think you will too.> Mantis takes Liquid’s dick out of his boxers and gives it a single light, teasing psychic stroke.

 

Liquid gasps, pulls away from the kiss so fast the back of his head smacks the headboard. “Holy _fucking_ shit. You’re really going to…?”

 

Fuck, he’s cute when Mantis winds him up so bad he lapses into normal speech. <Like I said, if I don’t have to see it or touch it directly…> He eagerly resumes his odd telekinetic handjob, sifting through Liquid’s fevered memories of quality alone time with good ol’ Righty for pointers. He relishes the way Liquid’s hips twitch in time with his tugs, the glazed-over look of ecstasy on his handsome face, his head still tipped back. <And don’t think this is all the action you’ll be getting tonight. The eve of a hostile takeover calls for something special, don’t you agree?>

 

As he meets Mantis’s eyes, Liquid’s only reply is a long, shuddering breath.

 

Mantis leans forward to murmur in his ear. “I hope you’re ready, Boss. I’m gonna wring you dry.”

 

Liquid buries his face in a scrawny shoulder and frantically jerks his hips at the air, fucking Mantis’s invisible grip. <Oh, oh fuck, Mantis, I can’t—>

 

Mantis’s grin is positively shit-eating as he blocks off the major nerves involved in orgasm. <Correct. You can’t.>

 

Liquid lets out a pained yelp at the denial of release. At the same time, arousal pulses across their link with such force it leaves Mantis shivering in its wake. His boss may as well be wearing a sign that says _I fucking love giving you power over me_ in giant neon letters.

 

Mantis psychically stills Liquid’s hand as he reaches for his dick. <Ah-ah-ah. That won’t do you any good.>

 

Liquid says nothing for a few moments, radiating that unique, seemingly oxymoronic flavor of thrilled indignation Mantis has grown so fond of. A slight but delicious tinge of humiliation creeps into the mix as he says, <What do I have to do?>

 

<Before…?> Mantis supplies.

 

Liquid averts his eyes, cheeks burning. <Before you’ll… let me cum.>

 

Mantis smiles. It’s endearing how easy his boss can be. <Fortunately for you, I’m in a generous mood. Compared to you with the candy, anyway,> he says wryly. <Lie down and I’ll do the rest.>

 

Before he’s even finished speaking, Liquid scoots forward at an almost comical speed, lets his head thump back on the pillow. Mantis lies atop him with a happy hum.

 

<Now then, blow a nice messy load all over me. Don’t hold back.>

 

He releases his psychic hold on Liquid, who cums at once with a choked cry. Mantis strokes him slowly through his climax—so strong it’s a little painful, judging by the feedback from their mental link. Warm ribbons of cum slap down over Mantis’s back, one particularly adventurous shot making it as far as his shoulder.

 

“Damn,” Liquid pants when it’s over, sweat-streaked and boneless beneath him.

 

<Well, I told you to make a mess and you more than delivered.> Mantis slides off Liquid and turns around, showing off his spunk-splattered shirt.

 

Liquid winces. <Ah… let me get that for you.>

 

<It’s all right,> says Mantis in answer to his boss’s unspoken apology. <I know you’ve been wanting to do that forever.>

 

<Seemed like it’d be a dick move to bring it up,> Liquid says, sheepish, as he pulls off the soiled shirt for him. He yawns. <Since you’re not a fan of body fluids and all.>

 

<Mm, I wouldn’t say _that_. After all, I’ve spent the past few weeks developing a taste for your body fluids. Kind of comes with the territory of eating your boyfriend alive. >

 

Liquid’s softening cock responds with a conspicuous twitch. He hastily stuffs it in his boxers.

 

Mantis mind-grabs his mask and straps it on. <Anyway,> he says, <that ought to help calm your nerves so you can fall asleep. Not that I couldn’t have simply _made_ you fall asleep, but I figured you’d like this method better. >

 

Liquid pulls him into a hug. <I did. A lot. Thank you.>

 

<Hmph. You can thank me later, when I’m finished with you.> He flicks his boss’s forehead on “finished.”

 

Liquid stretches, yawns again. <Guess we’d better get started, then.>

 

<Guess so.> He presses his hands to Liquid’s bare chest, tries to shove him over with physical force alone. Fails to so much as budge him, naturally, because he has noodles for arms and the man’s a goddamn brick wall. <Oh, come on, humor me.>

 

When he shoves him once more, his boss sighs dramatically and makes a show of collapsing on the mattress, which squeaks out a protest beneath his considerable weight. <How was that?>

 

<Perfect. Not overacted in the least.> He flops down next to him, tucks them in, clicks off the lamp. Liquid drowsily wraps an arm around him. Cozy little ritual. <Good ni—oh, you’re already asleep. I guess I’m talking to myself now. Okay then.>

 

He gives his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark so he can admire Liquid’s snoozing face. He may be attractive in a bajillion other ways, but boy is his boss not an attractive sleeper. Mouth hanging open, leaking drool all over the pillow, generally looking like a doofus.

 

Mantis wouldn’t change it for the world.

 

\----------

 

<I’m getting a severe case of _déjà vu_ here. >

 

<Pfft, it’s just your imagination,> says Mantis, who is tiny and sitting on Liquid’s shoulder.

 

Liquid crosses his legs on the bed. <So what are we going to do that necessitates you being bite-sized?>

 

Mantis snickers. <You just answered your own question, Boss.>

 

He feels the exact instant it hits his boss. <Oh my God, you’re not serious.>

 

<I’ve never been sarcastic in my life.>

 

Liquid plucks him off his shoulder, sits him in his cupped hand. <You want me to _eat_ you. You want _me_ to eat _you_? > Reluctance emanates from him.

 

Mantis strikes a seductive pose on his palm. <Why not? May as well make the most of being taller than me for once.>

 

<What—oh, you did _not_ just go there. You’ve got, what, maybe two whole centimeters on me? >

 

Mantis scoffs. <More than that.>

 

Liquid pokes his hollow stomach. <Okay, well, I’m still a lot bigger than you.>

 

<True. Even at my real size, you could snap me in half like a dry twig,> he says fondly, nuzzling Liquid’s thumb. <Saaay, there’s an idea.>

 

<Look, I’d be all for it if our positions were reversed, but seeing you all teeny and holdable like this just doesn’t awaken any carnivorous instincts in me. If anything, it makes me want to spoil you. Carry you around in my coat pocket all day, slip you M&Ms when no one’s looking.> He narrows his eyes, mischievous. <And now to get back at you for goading me into such a cheesy fucking confession.>

 

<Heh… uh oh.> Mantis darts out of his hand, but Liquid snatches him out of the air without missing a beat and starts tickling him hard with one fingertip. He shrieks, thrashing in Liquid’s clutches. <Gah! No fair!>

 

<You brought this on yourself,> Liquid says, his prim tone at odds with his obvious determination to make Mantis laugh until he cries.

 

Maybe it comes with the thin skin, but for whatever reason, Mantis has always been really fucking ticklish. Liquid takes great delight in reminding him of that fact on a regular basis, so trust him to take advantage of needing only a single finger to reach all his sensitive spots—in particular, his navel, under his arms, and (worst of all) his hips. His skintight clothes provide exactly zero protection.

 

<Jesus, Boss! Mercy! _Mercy!_ >

 

<Mercy is for the weak.> Cackling, Liquid digs into his hip until he wails aloud.

 

< _Bo-osssss_ —oh, wow, Boss, I think you might be enjoying this a bit too much.>

 

Liquid freezes mid-tickle. Glances down at himself. <…Oh.>

 

<Well, that works out in our favor,> says Mantis carelessly. Without further ado, he snakes a psychic hand down the front of Liquid’s pants and tugs at his half-hard cock until it thickens, firms up with blood.

 

<How is it you give the best handjobs when you don’t actually use your hands?> his boss says afterward, nicely dazed from cumming his second load of the night. <You can’t stand the concept of genitalia, for God’s sake.>

 

Mantis returns to his normal size and plops down next to him. <I thought we’d established it’s because I’m awesome, which makes everything I do awesome by proxy.>

 

<A sound argument. I suppose that also means getting your head stuck in an air vent while looking for cool bugs qualifies as ‘awesome.’>

 

<Hey! That only happened twice!>

 

<Yes, in the span of as many minutes.>

 

They crack up together at the memory.

 

<So, Boss,> says Mantis as they’re catching their breath. <I saved the best for last. You and I are gonna play tag.>

 

Liquid wrinkles up his nose. <Tag?>

 

<Yep! You get a head start. Go on, shoo.>

 

Perplexed, Liquid gets up, strolls over to the door. He looks at Mantis over his shoulder. <How is this supposed to be sexy, exactly?>

 

Mantis explodes into his bug-monster form, towering over him. <I’d make use of that head start if I were you.>

 

Liquid’s “oh shit” expression is priceless. He slams open the door and takes off down the hall like there’s a rocket strapped to his ass. Mantis thrusts its own huge body through the doorway and finds itself thorax-deep in a swarm of Genome Soldiers, who take one look at it and erupt into a screaming, shooting panic.

 

Oh, this is going to be _fun_.

 

Mantis surges through the terrified crowd, slashing open bellies and chests with its jaws, breaking necks with deft blows of its spiny forelegs. Waves of bullets ricochet uselessly off its exoskeleton. Goddamn, what Mantis wouldn’t give to have this body in the waking world! <Ha _ha_! Clever, Boss. Very clever. But I don’t plan to ruin my appetite at the buffet table. >

 

<I expected nothing less,> says Liquid from somewhere in the mob. <Man, I should’ve dreamed up some generic soldiers instead. I’m pretty sure I’ve slept with half these people.>

 

<No, no, that’s perfect,> Mantis assures him. <Gives me a delightfully petty reason to do things like _this_. > It slams a shrieking soldier onto his back, plunges its jaws into his chest, tears out the beating heart in a cascade of blood and shattered rib bone.

 

There’s a pulse of nervous excitement from Liquid. <You gonna do that to me?>

 

<Another time, perhaps. I have something special in store for you tonight.> It tosses aside the still-quivering heart, spreads its vast wings, leaps over the heaving mass of soldiers. It pinpoints Liquid’s location in a second and snaps its wings shut, dropping its weight on him with a hiss of glee.

 

<What kind of game of tag is this?> Liquid splutters as Mantis flips him roughly onto his back, snatches him up in its thorny raptorial forelimbs. <You were just going to snack on me in the end anyway.>

 

<Got your blood pumping, though, didn’t it?>

 

<Oof. That it did.> His eyes flick briefly down to the excruciating hard-on between his legs.

 

<Nothing gets you going quite like the idea of me ripping into you ’til you’re an unidentifiable tangle of guts, huh?>

 

Liquid trembles with anticipation and unspent adrenaline. <You know me too well. Shall we clear the halls first?>

 

<Nah. Let’s give these fine folks a show.>

 

Mantis rears up high so the soldiers all have a clear view of what’s about to happen to their boss.

 

<You know, Boss,> it says in an offhand tone, smashing in the heads of anyone bold (or dumb) enough to stumble within range of its four deceptively spindly hind legs, <when praying mantises devour their mates, they like to start with the face.>

 

It opens its mandibles, drools a viscous rope of black goop; Liquid has to squint as it splashes across one eye. A second dollop of saliva slides into his panting mouth, and Mantis is pleased to note he makes no move to spit it out. He shuts his other eye and bites his lip, waiting.

 

Mantis would have liked to draw this out longer, but its boss’s uncharacteristically meek expression pulverizes what little remains of its self-control. That this bitter, mistrustful man offers Mantis control over him so freely, so _enthusiastically_ … Mantis, who could kill him in any number of horrific ways without moving a muscle…

 

High on sheer joy, it realizes with some surprise that its mandibles have already reduced its prey to a headless corpse. Yet Liquid chooses to remain aware as Mantis makes its messy way down his neck and torso, his abdomen and legs, pausing only to hack up the occasional mangled shred of clothing, reveling in their audience’s helpless horror at the grisly spectacle. When it’s finished, it nibbles delicately at the gore dripping from the tip of one elegant foreleg.

 

The soldiers, living and dead alike, vanish when Liquid respawns on the floor nearby. He leans back on his hands, breathing hard as he gazes up at his monstrous boyfriend. <That was appalling. I came.>

 

<I noticed,> says Mantis. It starts on its other foreleg.

 

<Let’s do that again sometime. Or all the time.>

 

<You’re the boss, Boss.>

 

Liquid comes over, and it picks him up again, gently this time. Its slender antennae sway with pleasure as he scratches it under the chin. <Suppose it’s time for some proper sleep, then. You take care of yourself tomorrow, you hear me?>

 

<The sentiment is mutual—not that I’m worried,> says Mantis. <Barring some massive plot twist, we’ve got this in the bag.>

 

\----------

 

Solid Snake and the Silverburgh girl are minutes from reaching Mantis when he picks up on the tail end of an exchange between Liquid and a couple of soldiers in a hall off REX’s hangar. His boss had mentioned him in passing.

 

“How do you, y’know, keep him under control?” one of the soldiers asks. “You make it look so easy.”

 

Mantis bristles.

 

“I don’t,” Liquid says tersely.

 

“Seriously? The guy’s a ticking time bomb. I mean, he’s nuts!”

 

Liquid considers the soldier for a moment, then slams his knee up into the other man’s crotch. He crumples to the floor, wheezing, as his buddy looks on in alarm.

 

“Awww, did that hurt? Good. Perhaps next time you’ll use your fucking brain before speaking about my friend as if he’s an animal on a leash.”

 

Mantis’s heart swells with gratitude.

 

Fuck the rest of the world, but he’d do anything for Liquid Snake—the only one who’s ever seen him not as a living weapon, a _thing_ to be kept in chains, but as a person. He’ll gladly lay his life on the line for his boss, if it comes to that.

 

Mantis blinks away the hot sting of tears and waits.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading, whether out of morbid curiosity or because you're legit into this... stuff
> 
> now excuse me while i go lay down and slowly pass away thinking about this ship


End file.
